


Scars

by TheTeaIsAddictive



Series: The Beauty of a Beast [15]
Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Mild Gore, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:03:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7158776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTeaIsAddictive/pseuds/TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all the scars he got from his time as the Beast were physical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Scars**

The first time it happens, Adam assumes it was just a bad dream.

He's running through the forest, racing and leaping over the fallen tree branches. He's in search of prey, of something to eat, of animal bones to snap between his strong canines and the taste of raw meat to appease the lion in him, but also _more_. He's in search of the thrill of the chase, the slight uncertainty about whether or not he'll catch something based on beastly instincts alone, the distinct and natural way he can differentiate between hundreds of species by smell alone, how the black and white of trees and snow doesn't matter as long as he can see the shapes. The way his body is _swift_ and _fast_ and overall _strong_ , how the muscles move as he pounces, how his chest echoes as he roars through the empty trees. And as he roars, the wolves arrive. An endless sea of wolves, biting at him, kicking him, trying to tear him apart, trying to kill the Beast, until finally one manages to rip out his side -

Adam shoots up in bed, breathing heavily. His human hands shoot up to cover his human face, as Adam runs his hands over each familiar feature, trying to calm his heady breathing. He frantically touches his thrice-broken nose, his high forehead, the delicate skin of his eyelids, before concentrating on the hands themselves - five fingers, wide palms, narrowing to wrists before the lineage swells out to his forearms. _I am human_ , he reminds himself. _The spell was broken. I am human_. As he sinks back down to his bed, he absent-mindedly strokes the three long scars he received from the wolves the night Belle arrived at the castle, the bumpy scar tissue oddly all that physically remained of the Beast after the transformation. 

And he's sure he can feel the slightest amount of blood. 

***

The second time he remembers any specifics, it's in the carriage on the way to Paris for the King's funeral. 

The Beast runs away from the Château de Campagne. It's not the first time he's left the grounds, but he doesn't care for it - after a while the wolves inevitably come and take him back, mainly through force, so consequently he stays inside the castle most days. But today he needs to get out, to be free, free from all the frightened, expectant looks the moronic little clock and candlestick and teapot give him all the time when they expect him to deny his nature. So he runs. His paws hit the ground in rhythm, and he huffs the cold air out through his monstrous face, and he tries to silence the shrill little cry he can't stop hearing inside his head. The Beast is tired of hearing the child he once was scream every time he does something animalistic, but a screaming boy is still better than leaving his hunger for killing, for meat, for the weight of a juicy meal, even just plain _hunger_ unsatisfied. So he runs. And then suddenly he's on the edge of a cliff and his claws aren't strong enough to hold him up and he has the weight of another man on his back and then he's falling, falling, fall-

Adam jumps as the carriage goes over a bump in the road. He grips his arm hard enough to leave bruises, as he glances up to check Charmant is still asleep. The older man's chest rises and falls steadily, blissfully unaware of any night terrors, while his younger brother struggles to slow down his breath enough to actually take in air. Adam closes his eyes, pressing his forehead against the polished wood interior alongside the discomfort of his dry mouth. Twice he has remembered dreaming about the Beast, but many more times has he woken up in a cold sweat, or falling out of bed. _What's wrong with me? Why do I keep thinking about that time? It's over now - I shouldn't be thinking about it._

_If only it were that easy,_ a smaller, quieter part of his consciousness admits. 

***

The dreams plague him, on and off, for mostly a year. At least once a week, Adam invariably wakes up shaking with fear. Often, he wakes falling out the bed, which doesn't help if the nightmares involve a particular balcony outside the West Wing. Once, he wakes up with a shout. 

There is nothing particularly startling about the dream he can remember at first, nothing that makes it anything out of the ordinary. But after thinking on it for a while, Adam realises the terror hidden in it. The wolf that usually bites him in the side, instead of having a jet black coat and icy blue eyes, has plain brown fur and large, dark eyes flaked with gold. 

Belle's eyes. 

After his subconsciousness does this, after it takes the person he loves the most and uses her as a weapon against himself, Adam tries not to sleep at night. It doesn't matter that the nightmares come for him anyway, or that all his insomnia achieves is severe exhaustion during the day (and, perhaps, some more familiarity with the contents of the castle library); all he knows is that the darkness he once cloaked himself in as if it was a much-loved childhood blanket has turned rebel against him, and he prays that Belle doesn't find out his secret. There is nothing inherently awful in it, and he knows Belle would well understand recurring nightmares about traumatic experiences, but still, still he hesitates. Because it's not /just/ the dreams that are the problem, Adam muses. It's the fear. The constant niggling worry that he will offend the Enchantress somehow once again and be deemed unworthy of his humanity. And in that process, lose Belle. 

He manages to keep it hidden well, until the morning after their wedding. Then, in the midst of the wolves surrounding and threatening him, he is shaken, and then he is no longer four legged and holding a bleeding carcass in his mouth but half-naked in bed wrapping his very human arms tightly around Belle, as he waits for his heart to slow and she comfortingly brushes over the scars on his left arm. He presses kisses to her hair and once, gently, she kisses his shoulder. 

The nightmares return later. They always do. But now, at least, he has someone to share them with.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted 15/10/2013 on ff.net


End file.
